


Tumblr Crushes

by marchingjaybird



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, The fluffiest fluff, seriously, that ever fluffed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/pseuds/marchingjaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil uses the Internet as stress relief. So naturally, it turns on him and introduces romance into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumblr Crushes

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a cracky, short fic and it got totally out of control.
> 
> flatbear  
> starkexpos  
> paxieamor
> 
> This one is for you guys.

He knew it was a poor idea as soon as he agreed to it. He'd hesitated, finger hovering over the enter key, eyes glued to the innocuous little button that said 'ASK'. Said? More like blared, accusatory white text contained in a little blue button. He knew it was a poor idea, but his index finger struck enter with a finality that was undercut somewhat by the soft, underwhelming click of the key.

As soon as it was done, he cradled his head in his hands and wondered what on earth he thought he was doing.

Fury had encouraged him, in his own way, to seek outlets that would lift some of the stress of his job from his shoulders. Phil had tried a dozen things, from book clubs to marathons, but the thing that had stuck was possibly the most embarrassing one. He'd tried to convince himself that it was natural, just an extension of his boyhood obsession with spies and heroes, but it was hard to maintain that fiction when he spent the bulk of his downtime scrolling infinitely through photos and sketches and theories and fanfic, which he did not read for fear of descending too deeply into the rabbit hole, but which he sometimes wrote in his head when he was bored or frustrated.

Fury didn't know about any of it, of course. Phil was infinitely careful when it came to hiding his activities. He didn't want his boss to know that he hung out on Tumblr.

His laptop chimed softly and he looked up slowly, eyes glued to the email notification hovering in the corner of his screen. He stared it down until it vanished, then sighed and clicked the envelope icon that would take him to his messages.

***

He'd made friends online. It was not the best choice he could have made, but it was hard to help himself. There were so many people and they were so enthusiastic, so interesting, so _funny_. After watching for weeks, he'd cautiously started interjecting himself into conversations, commenting on pictures. He'd learned the art of keyboard mashing, though he still felt vaguely silly when he did it. He had an arsenal of reaction gifs ready to deploy and he conscientiously loaded his queue whenever he was away on a mission. He had the app installed on his phone so that he could check his dashboard even when he was away from his desk.

He was, in short, One Of Them. And in the grand tradition of doing things that he shouldn't do, he had Met Someone.

***

It had, as these things do, started out innocently enough. He'd been scrolling idly, putting off paperwork, when he'd seen the picture. It was an outside shot; the glare from the sun ruined the top right corner of it. The body of the picture was fine, though, and showed the Avengers, grouped in front of Stark Tower. They were in their street clothes - except for Banner and Barton, neither of whom was present - and they were laughing and there he was, standing at Stark's elbow and looking vaguely bemused by the whole affair.

He remembered that day. It had been a hundred degrees in the shade, so miserable that not even Stark had been able to summon the energy to tease his fellow heroes. He'd invited them up to swim in one of the many pools that the Tower boasted and naturally on the way up they'd been waylaid by fans. Phil had tried to stay out of the way as much as possible, but clearly someone had caught him before he'd slipped into the crowd to stand with Banner and Barton.

For a moment, he'd just stared stupidly at the picture, then scrolled down to look at the comments. _The Avengers_ , read the caption. Then a string of replies ( _Tony Stark wears the best suits_ , _Tony Stark is my spirit animal_ , _Do you think Cap would marry me?_ , _That depends, are you a billionaire with a goatee?_ , _I would happily die between Widow's legs_ , _Who's the dude in the suit next to Cap?_ ) and then he stopped, scrolled back, grinned faintly. They were talking about him.

_He's not an Avenger  
I think he's with SHIELD or something  
Yeah, isn't he their handler?  
Google informs me.... nothing. Damned spies.  
He's not a spy. His name is Coulson._

That gave him pause, seeing his name on the page like that, and he sat for a good minute before he realized his hand was shaking. He checked the quote, followed the little grey line up. The commenter was the same name as the original poster. _iowan69_. Phil hesitated, chewing his lip, then clicked the name. It was a fairly standard blog, one of the free themes, a basic bio ( _big Avengers fan, rebloggin' ALL the pictures!_ ), a few of those scarves (Hufflepuff, House Baratheon, the 4th Doctor's scarf), an icon of a cat wearing sunglasses.

Phil typed the ask before he could chicken out. _You from NY too? Saw your pic. I was there that day, too._

He had an answer within a few minutes. _Yep, NYC boy! It's not the best shot ever, but it was the only one without bystander head in it._

Phil replied. _How'd you know the SHIELD agent's name? I tried to Google him and nothing._

The next answer took a little longer to come. Phil tried not to invent a hundred conspiracy scenarios. He managed to keep it to a manageable fifty before his email notification chimed. 

_My brother works for SHIELD. He tells me all the stuff that's not top secret._

Phil bristled a little at that. SHIELD personnel were not authorized to reveal anything, top secret or not, about the facilities in which they worked and the people to whom they answered. But he had to be cool; this was Tumblr, not a disciplinary committee.

_Sweet! Wish I had the hook-up like that._

***

And that was how it had started, but it was emphatically not where it ended. Phil's conversations with _iowan69_ \- who said his name was Frank and that he was 28 - grew more and more in depth as the days wore on. They reblogged each other constantly, carried on conversations through ask long into the night. At first they only talked about the Avengers, their costumes and histories and battles, but the conversations rapidly turned personal. Where they grew up, their families, the shows they watched and the music they listened to. Frank was from Iowa, hence the URL, and had only the aforementioned brother. They didn't agree on music (Phil preferred Etta James and Frank Sinatra, and Frank listened to The Eagles and The Doobie Brothers) but they both watched Doctor Who and despised reality television.

It was about a month into their friendship that Frank sent the ask that changed everything.

_Shit Cap is hot in that new picture you posted!! I'd lick his face._

Phil had stared at the screen for a good ten minutes, wishing (not for the first time) that he could use gifs in real life. Because that definitely would have been a MIND BLOWN one.

 _You're gay?_ he sent back. There was a long silence. He was typing up a second ask when Frank's reply came in. 

_Bi. That a problem?_

He let out the breath he'd been holding. This was stupid, utterly stupid, and he hated himself for it, but he felt suddenly giddy. It didn't matter that he'd never met Frank in person, didn't matter that he'd never even seen a picture of him. That admission, sitting like a stone in his ask box, finally opened the floodgate that he'd been desperately holding shut.

_Not at all. I'm actually gay._

_Well slap my ass and call me Charlie! You know, we really should get together, have some coffee sometime_

And before Phil could stop himself, he'd agreed.

***

He didn't want to go to the coffee shop. It was just down the road from his office, but it felt like he'd walked across the entire country by the time he got there. Frank had said he'd be wearing a blue Avengers shirt, and Phil lingered outside the shop, staring in the windows like a creep. It was sparsely populated and he didn't see any blue shirts, which made him feel better. It was easier to get there early, stake out a spot and bail if he couldn't handle the nerves.

What a laugh riot. He, an Army Ranger, recruited away from the NSA to work as an elite operative for SHIELD, _he_ was absolutely petrified to meet his online crush. It made him feel like an awkward virgin again, fumbling kisses with the neighbor kid inside the shed. It had been dark, rich, thick with the smells of soil and old, damp wood, and the boy from a few houses down (dark haired, a year older, a foot taller) had stroked Phil's stomach under his shirt and pressed him back against the splintery wall while outside Phil's sister's fifth birthday party had unspooled like a sugary ribbon in the summer heat. He'd touched himself in earnest for the first time that night, eyes squeezed shut, holding the memory of the other boy's tongue in his teeth. He'd tasted like orange soda and birthday cake. Phil had been in love with him for a long time.

He didn't remember the boy's name now, it had been so long ago. He was a memory, a sweetness, unexpected out here on the busy sidewalk. Phil's hand shook a little as he pushed open the door and, for appearance's sake, he went to the counter and ordered a coffee.

He sat for five minutes, watching the steam rising from his cup and wondering why he'd thought he could do this. He could still leave, make up some excuse...

The door opened. The bell above it chimed. Phil saw the blue shirt, saw the Avengers logo plastered across the chest. Saw the face above it and spit his coffee back into the cup.

" _Barton_?" he blurted. A few of the other patrons turned to look at him, disinterested and disaffected, then turned back to their own conversations. Barton, blue eyes gently puzzled, made his way across the room and slipped into the seat across from Phil.

"Heya, boss," he murmured. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting coffee," Phil answered, the lie springing easily to his lips. God. Of course. Clinton Francis Barton. Frank. He'd been an idiot. "What about you?"

"Meeting someone." And for a moment, pure pleasure showed on Barton's face, almost childlike in its eagerness, and Phil felt like a bastard.

"Well," Phil said, leaving his coffee mostly untouched. "I'll just leave you to it."

"Seeya later, boss!"

He paused outside the window, looked in at Barton's profile. It was a face he'd looked at hundreds of times over the years, but it seemed like this was the first time he was really _seeing_ it.

"Jesus wept," he muttered to himself. "What the hell have I done?"

***

He sent the text as soon as he got back to his office.

_Sorry, man. Can't make it. Dog got sick. Can we try another time?_

_Sure. Hope puppy's okay. Talk to you tonight._

There was nothing inherently sad about words on a screen, but disappointment radiated from them nevertheless. Phil rested his forehead gently against his desk and hated himself.

***

_Sorry I missed you today. How's your dog?_

_Fine. Much better. Vet said he'll be good. Thanks._

_You still wanna get together? It's fine if you don't. I understand._

_No, I do. Why would you think I didn't?_

_I don't know. I don't have many friends, you know? We don't ever have to meet if you don't want to. It's good just knowing you're out there._

***

He found Clint in the gym doing pull-ups. It was a hell of a sight and, in spite of the heaviness that had dogged him all day, Phil let himself enjoy the spectacle. He had noticed Clint before, of course, but only physically, only as an appreciation of an excellent example of the male form. There was a weight to his admiration now, a desire to reach out and touch. He waited until Clint dropped from the bar before calling softly.

"Hey."

"Heya, boss." Clint mopped his face with a towel and smiled affably. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Phil answered. His heart thundered in his chest, knocking its way up his ribcage to lodge in his throat. His expression betrayed absolutely nothing. "How are you? Frank."

Clint started to answer, then stopped. He blinked a few times, opened and closed his mouth. Raised an accusatory finger. Shook his head. "Son of a _bitch_!"

"Sorry," Phil said. "I shouldn't have left. I was just surprised."

"You have a _Tumblr_!?" Not the response he'd been hoping for.

"So do you," he pointed out.

"You reblog cat gifs!"

"Your icon is a cat."

"You ship Steve and Tony!"

"You want to lick Steve's face."

" _You said Tony has a cute ass_."

" _You reblog Hufflepuff pride banners!_ "

They glared at each other for a long minute, then Clint burst out laughing. "Oh man," he wheezed. "I'll never look at you the same again."

"I hope not," Phil said softly. He reached out, pressed his palm against the flat plane of Clint's belly. Muscles tightened, skin twitched. A ripple of gooseflesh spread along Clint's torso, radiating out down his limbs.

"Phil..."

"Let me buy you dinner," Phil said. Clint studied his face, searching for some evidence of guile, then smiled. It was a slow thing, like honey, lighting his face like gold. Phil had never seen him smile like that. It made his heart ache.

"Yeah," Clint murmured, leaning down, planting a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of Phil's mouth. "I'll go get showered and meet you upstairs."

"Promise I won't leave this time."

***

Dinner was perfect.

***

After dinner was even better.


End file.
